


Sketches and Strings

by polybius



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Art college student Hanzo, M/M, Non-Overwatch AU, Smut likely in later chapters, Young busker Mccree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-02 04:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polybius/pseuds/polybius
Summary: Lacking inspiration, art student Hanzo Shimada finds an unlikely muse in the scruffy cowboy of a busker who plays music on the street for spare change.Sharper than he looks, the nomadic Jesse McCree has noticed the serious faced artist that comes to sketch him, too.Worlds apart and yet similar in ways unknown to them both, the summer has a lot in store for these two strangers.





	1. Chapter 1

This close to the edge of the city, where the breeze carried the taste of salt from the sea and cut cool through the summer sun, Hanzo felt like he could finally breathe.

 

From his spot on a small café patio, there was apt view of the street stretching down towards the beach. Sunburnt families dropped sand into the cracks in the sidewalk on their way up, groups of tan women in expensive yoga pants passed them on their way down, a surfer heaved his board higher to avoid a fast-paced dog walker. And Hanzo would sit and watch them all, iced coffee falling victim to melting ice cubes, an empty sketchpad sat open on his table.

 

Summer break had hit him all too unexpectedly. With no assignments to keep himself busy and the downtown streets seeming overcrowded and overheated, Hanzo had sought inspiration and distraction at the last stop on the metro train line. Where the city met the ocean and life seemed a little calmer. His afternoons were spent collecting half assed sketches of passing dogs and other café patrons, inspiration and thoughts scattered.

 

Then the cowboy showed up on a particularly busy Saturday afternoon.

 

Across the street from Hanzo’s daily haunt, a gap between two buildings offered a shady respite that had long since gone unoccupied until he came along and filled the space. Sat on a crate he’d pulled out from behind a dumpster, the man was hardly noticeable beside the busy sidewalk, blending into dusty red brick, his guitar case sat open and ready for loose change. Hanzo rarely missed a detail, though. He didn’t miss him.

 

He played an acoustic guitar and sang, mostly country songs Hanzo wasn’t familiar with but he could appreciate the voice; low and Southern and smooth. There was a tear in his jeans by the knee, scuffed, tan skin peeking through, bobbing to a beat with a tap of a dirty biker boot on the sidewalk. He had a smile for anyone that looked down his way, overly charming with wicked eyes before his head tipped down to study his strings and the brim of a dusty brown cowboy hat hid them from view. He seemed unkempt and wild in this uptown district, a stray coyote in a big, rich city.

 

Hanzo had never had a muse quite like him.

 

Over the next few days the cowboy returned to his shady spot, and Hanzo returned to his own across the road. Coffee sat abandoned in the hot sun as he found the courage to bring pencil to paper, lines forming the pattern of a red plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar turned down. Shading for the shadow of rough stubble on his jaw, curves for the unruly way is hair escaped the edges of his hat. Sometimes he would draw the squeeze of the two buildings either side of him, sometimes he would be someplace else entirely, the slow stream of the music taking Hanzo a long way from the city.

 

His papers became full with the same cowboy on his crate, tuning his guitar, knelt down on the path to pet a passing dog. Sharp eyes sought for details that were missing in the distance between them, chest tight from frustration each time a small crowd might gather to listen and block his point of view. Hanzo wasn’t sure how much he made, but he stayed until sundown each day, pocketing bills when the street grew quiet, kicking his seat crate into the shadows ready for the following day.

 

It had been maybe a week or so of this pattern, the café workers accustomed to Hanzo staying until closing. The evening was cooler than usual and the patio was empty in the yellowing light. Hanzo had his attention fixated on his paper, a set of fingers clutching to a guitar strap looking just slightly off in his pencil strokes. Through his frustration it only vaguely registered that the music had long since stopped flowing from across the street. And then a shadow cut off his light and Hanzo became all too aware of the figure stood beside him.

 

“ _Damn_ , will ya look at that?” It was a loud drawl followed by a whistle of appreciation, a tan hand coming to lean on the table just above Hanzo’s sketchpad.

 

For a brief, mad moment, Hanzo acknowledges the soft line of a scar by the base of his thumb; a detail only caught in this close proximity that had been missing from his sketches so far. But then there was no choice but to glance upward and acknowledge the very same guy he’d been watching for close to a week. His stomach sank at a wrenching speed, a flash of panic in his expression quickly replaced with something harder, defensive. A hand slammed down on the paper, partly to cover his sketch and partly to prevent the guy from turning the page to view more, causing a laugh from his muse.

 

“Whoa there, I ain’t tryna spook ya, you’ve got a great eye and a whole bunch of talent there…” He spoke like he sang, each word rolling into the next with ease. Hanzo was too busy quickly gathering up his papers to look up again, but he can hear the smile in his voice and it sets his insides on fire in embarrassment. His bag was caught on the arm of his chair, and he was breathless when he stood, for a moment face to face with the guy and his wicked eyes and charming smile.

 

“If you will excuse me,” He muttered in his sharp, accented English, shooting daggers as if they might cut right through this wild man in his way. Hanzo caught him grappling for words, one hand reaching as if to stop him from leaving, but Hanzo was light-footed and all too quick in darting around a black guitar case, away from the patio. There was a shout after him but Hanzo’s heart was pounding too hard for him to slow.

 

It wasn’t until he reached the end of the street that he dared to glance over his shoulder. The man wasn’t following him, instead stooping to pick something up from the café patio. By the time he straightened up again, Hanzo had disappeared around the corner with no intention of ever returning to that sandy sidewalked street.


	2. Chapter 2

Jesse McCree turned the keycard over in his palm a couple of times as though thinking over an idea. The logo was for the city art college, the name beneath pronouncing its owner a one Hanzo Shimada. Looked like one of those keys used to access a dorm building, no doubt fallen out of the guy’s bag in his rush to leave. With the guy now disappeared, Jesse pocketed the keycard with his idea and set off in the opposite direction for home.

 

There was that tinge of regret that Jesse always squashed down after jumping the gun. That niggling thought that maybe he should have just left the artist guy alone with his sketches rather than hopping over the patio plantpots to make his presence known.

 

He’d first caught Jesse’s eye a few days prior; sharply dressed in his rolled up jeans and crisp white shirt, an abundance of long dark hair tied back in a messy bun. He’d been drawing something in his sketchpad, eyebrows turned down in concentration, shoulders tensely hunched over his paper. It wasn’t until Jesse caught him looking his way a fair few times that it clicked that the guy was drawing _him_.

 

And, hoo boy, Jesse had never been more glad for the attention.

 

But then the way he had glared when Jesse had approached him… those eyes were still cutting as Jesse lay on the mattress in the back of his van later that night, door slid open to let the ocean air into his small home. Now, Jesse wasn’t the type of guy to linger too long over anything. Flighty and unreliable, he never stayed in one place for too long, always ready to pack up his van and move on when the time was right. A little like running away, though he simply liked to think of himself more as a drifter.

 

Running away sound too much like he was scared, and Jesse McCree liked to think he was fearless.

 

Regardless, there was something about that Hanzo Shimada that had Jesse’s plans of leaving delayed just a little further, day after day. Which was stupid, downright ridiculous, and he should have thrown that keycard out his van doorway to be trodden into the cool sand, leaving the stand-offish artist and his sketches in his dust. But instead Jesse sat himself up and reached for his guitar, playing one last song of the day out towards the dark, dark waves.

 

The next morning, Jesse forked out some of his loose dollar bills to buy a metro train ticket into the city. It wasn’t hard to find directions to the college campus from there, a small cluster of buildings on the edge of the downtown park, riddled with students that gave him quick side eyed glances as he passed. It was there he set his base for the day on a bench opposite the student dorm building, a cup of strong coffee by his side and a cigarette tucked between his ear and hat, just in case.

 

At first he simply watched, worked his way through his coffee with a keen eye for everyone that passed. But his attention span had never been great, and he’s quick to uncase his guitar to maybe try and earn a couple extra dollars. And with fingers working quick against his strings and boot stamping out a beat, he almost missed him.

 

Halted at the top of the building steps, clutching tight to a familiar sketchpad and staring astonished down at Jesse. Hanzo Shimada himself. Jesse broke into a grin mid line, his rendition of Johnny Cash picking up in volume as if to taunt to guy above him, to lure him down those few steps.

 

“ _Well when I was just a baby my mama told me son, always be a good boy don’t ever play with guns_ —“

 

The song cut short. Fingers slipped on the strings to play a bum note as Jesse watched Hanzo quickly turn to stalk off in the opposite direction, eliciting a sharp curse from him and confusion from the small audience he’d gathered. “Excuse me, folks, I just gotta…” He muttered with a kick to close his open guitar case, hoping it would protect the cash he’d gathered whilst he made a rush for the steps, guitar still in hand.

 

Hanzo seems to anticipate the chase, because he was quick to turn around just a bare second before Jesse could catch him, his expression unreadable. Perhaps just a hint of impatience.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Well, shit, it’s good to see you again, too.” Jesse nudged the brim of his hat back away from his face, his grin a little too genuine in his tease. “Got somethin’ that belongs to ya…” He slid his hand into his back pocket to unearth the lost keycard, watching Hanzo’s expression soften into something like embarrassment in response.

 

“Right. Thank you.” The thanks was stiff and forced, Hanzo’s sharp jaw turning tense. Everything about this guy looked like it might cut Jesse to pieces.

 

“I was thinking maybe we could do a trade?”

 

“A _trade_?” Hanzo frowned, clearly affronted in response to Jesse’s cocky smile.

 

“Your keycard for a peek at what you’ve been drawing the past few days. Seems only fair since I was the model and all… I mean, I practically have a right.”

 

Hanzo’s eyes darted in such a quick, sly way it even caught Jesse off guard. Not quite self-conscious, but rather wondering what it was this guy saw when he looked at him, those dark eyes giving nothing away for free. Jesse was sure to keep the keycard just out of reach, noticing the tight way his muscles seemed to tense in gripping tighter to his sketchbook.

 

“You have no more right than the dogs I sketched those same days,” He finally responded, words heavily loaded. Jesse almost saw the twitch of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

 

“Aw honey, you ain’t seen half the dog I can be.”

 

Hanzo’s expression crumpled in embarrassed disapproval, the soft flush to his cheeks only darkening at Jesse’s wink. And there was something all too satisfying in ruffling this pristine man that Jesse just didn’t want to stop. Hanzo, on the other hand, had other ideas. He turned quickly on his heel, muttering over his shoulder, “Keep it, I can get a new one.”

 

“Hey, no, wait, Hanzo? That’s your name, right? Hanzo?” Jesse hurriedly falls into step beside him. “Mine’s Jesse. Jesse McCree. It’s pretty cool that you’re studying, uh, drawing here.”

 

“Fine art and illustration.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, that. Good with your hands, heh, me too…” Jesse flexed his fingers around his guitar but his smile was only returned with a sharp glance sideways. “So, uh, where are you from?”

 

“Listen, cowboy,” Hanzo stopped to face him suddenly.

 

“Jesse.”

 

“Yes, yes, Jesse McCree, I heard you. Now hear me and leave me alone.” Dark eyes dropped down to his sketchpad, which he opened to tear a page from the ring binding. He pressed the page to Jesse’s chest, fingers splayed and firm. “Here, now we are even.” And, catching Jesse distracted, he plucked the keycard from his hand and walked away.

 

Jesse, clutching at the paper to keep it from falling, chewed back his lower lip before calling out, “I’ll be in the usual place if you wanna swing by and lemme buy you a coffee!” And Hanzo slowed just slightly, head turning to shoot Jesse an unreadable expression through dark hair before he slipped away.

 

If it had been anyone else he had shunned, they might have gotten the point and moved on with their lives. But Jesse McCree was nothing if not stubborn. He lowered the paper to study the fine pencil marks, the page containing a couple sketches of him. One was of him sat with his guitar, head tipped up to offer a smile at someone dropping money into his case. The other was seeped in detail, a closer study of his face, one hand reaching for his hat with that scar at the base of his thumb, small gold ring in his right ear. Very recently drawn.

 

Jesse was stubborn, but only when he knew he was right. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he would see Hanzo Shimada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here is some amazing music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZB2tpy03GUs)
> 
> Please show some love if you would like me to continue! This is my first OW fic and I'd love some feedback to take into future chapters!


	3. Chapter 3

The summer heat didn’t dissipate in the next few days, Hanzo’s dorm room remaining stuffy and claustrophobic even with both windows flung open to try and let in a breeze. From his place sat on the bed, he had full view of the park stretching below his building, imposing skyscrapers bordering in the distance, reaching up to a cloudless sky. He had been sat for a while like this, listless and slack. His father’s most recent letter still sat opened beside him, the quick strokes of his handwriting seeming to yell up from the paper, demanding to be read. But Hanzo had already read it three times, he understood its message.

 

It had been a long time since his family had tried to contact him, had tried to convince him to go home. Hanzo had almost hoped that they had come to terms with it all and that they would leave him in peace. But this latest letter was seeped in hateful words and accusations, reminders of his responsibilities, threats of dishonour. This one carried an ultimatum; either Hanzo return home to Japan, or he could consider himself disowned and all connections and money access would be severed.

 

It was a letter he had been expecting, but not so soon. He had presumed his father would have the grace to wait until he had graduated before pulling him back to his old life. Now he had a whole year left of his college degree and soon no money to pay for it. He wasn’t going back.

 

He took a long walk to distract his thoughts. Nowhere in particular, just wandering the city streets until the cotton of his t-shirt felt clingy and his head wasn’t spinning quite so much. It wasn’t until he reached the park by his campus on his return that he knew what he needed. The few trees still clinging to spring blossom reminded him of home too much, he needed to be taken as far away from Japan and his father and his old life as possible.

 

The metro train carried him away, through the blocks of tall buildings to smaller ones and then out towards the sea. By now the sun was setting and the streets were quiet, heat still clinging to the air as if reluctant for day to leave. A small spark of panic had Hanzo surprised, actually hoping that it wasn’t too late and that he’d missed him. But, no. There in the small gap between his two buildings, a scruffy cowboy bent to lower his guitar back into his case. He seemed despondent, his fingers lingering on the strings as Hanzo approached.

 

“Will you play one more?”

 

Jesse looked up and something flashed across his face that Hanzo couldn’t quite read. And then that familiar grin had Hanzo’s breath leaving him in a soft huff. Jesse McCree was rough and unrefined, loud and bawdy, every expression showing feeling and thoughts. He was nothing like home.

 

“Was startin’ to think you’d never come…” It had started as a tease but Jesse trailed off to silence. Perhaps it was the look on Hanzo’s face that made his own soften, biting back his lower lip and collecting his guitar back up again. “Sure thing. One more.”

 

Grateful and a little embarrassed, Hanzo moved to sit on the floor, leaning back against the side of one the buildings. He didn’t particularly care about the dirt on his spotless jeans, only appreciating the cool brick through his shirt and the new view of Jesse he was offered. A soft profile in the lowering light that might have looked just perfect in watercolour.

 

He started to play, something slow and low with a heavy beat under his boot, fingers moving across strings with such a quick grace it seemed like magic. Hanzo closed his eyes and rocked his head back against the wall. Somewhere further down the road, the sea was meeting the shore of an empty beach. A whole ocean between him and his home. When his eyes opened again he found Jesse watching him, curiosity bordering on hunger in his expression before he smiled and went right back to singing. Hanzo’s shoulders slackened, the softest smile gracing his lips as he turned his face away.

 

True to his word, once Jesse had finished his one song he set his guitar back in his case. “So…” he started, sneaking glances across to where Hanzo hadn’t yet moved, “You wanna go grab a drink with me? Looks like maybe you need one, I know a place just up the street.”

 

“I…” Hanzo made to decline but stopped, thinking of the small dorm room and opened letter that awaited him back in the city. “I will join you. But this doesn’t mean…”

 

“Doesn’t mean what?” Jesse cocked a brow, standing from his crate.

 

“Doesn’t mean that you win.”

 

Jesse barked out a laugh. “Wasn’t ever a competition, sweetheart. I just wanted to get to know ya a little better, is all.” He kicked his crate back into the shadows, one hand carrying his guitar case, the other extended down in Hanzo’s direction. Hanzo only hesitated a moment before accepting.

 

The bar Jesse took him to wasn’t anywhere Hanzo might have ended up himself. A little rundown but charming nonetheless, it fit his new companion like a boot. They sat in a quiet corner at a small table that seemed a little too sticky to Hanzo’s taste, and when the server joined them Jesse was quick to order a couple of whiskeys before Hanzo could protest. When the drink arrived, he kept it cradled between his palms, too distracted to take a sip. Across the table, Jesse took a swig as if it were water.

 

“I’m a pretty good listener if you ever wanna… y’know, talk.”

 

Hanzo pulled dark eyes up from his glass to watch Jesse grin before they flickered out across the bar again. “You are unlikely to understand what troubles me so I see little point in discussing it with you.”

 

“Well, I’ve seen a lot of shit and been a lot of places. Why don’t ya try me?”

 

Hanzo took a drink of his whiskey. It tasted like fire on his tongue, burnt hot with a heavy swallow. Not exactly what he was accustomed to drinking, but he knew that it would help to take the edge off of things for a little while. He swallowed another mouthful, just to be sure.

 

Jesse was watching him with sharp eyes, curious and unflinching when Hanzo studied his expression with scrutiny.

 

“How do you see me?” Hanzo asked.

 

Jesse took a moment to consider his answer before giving a soft shrug. “You’re a little uptight, maybe you think you’re better than me and that’s understandable. You obviously come from money, probably raised to look down ya nose at the likes of me.” He paused to take a drink and Hanzo frowned. Not because Jesse was wrong, but perhaps because he was closer to right. Jesse continued, “You’ve got some fight in ya, though. You wouldn’t be here with me now if you didn’t, and I respect that.”

 

“I do not think myself worthy of your respect. My family… you are right, they are very important people. Very _dangerous_ people. I do not want to be like them.” Hanzo took a swig of his drink but Jesse didn’t say anything more, knowing that his silence would serve to urge Hanzo on. “I was raised to be like my father, to take over from him when the time came. But it is a cold business, a harsh one that can hardly call itself legal at the best of times.” At this Hanzo shot Jesse a quick look but the cowboy didn’t even flinch.

 

“So you ran away to follow a passion in art instead?”

 

“It was never really about the art. I’ve always been talented in that area but never cared enough. It was…”

 

They were both leaning on the table now, caught up in their small bubble, glasses empty. Jesse raised a brow in question and Hanzo’s own furrowed.

 

“My brother died.”

 

A beat of silence passed. Hanzo glared down at the table and Jesse let his expression soften before turning to raise a hand at their server. “Two more whiskeys!”

 

Two more whiskeys did come, and then a few more following. In their dark corner of the busy bar, Hanzo let himself grow steadily more drunk whilst he talked. At first it was just about his family, about his cruel, strict father and his childhood of training, about his saving grace of a younger brother and his quick wit. He spewed words that had been kept so hidden for so long into the heated air and Jesse moved his seat closer so that they might hear each other better.

 

Hanzo leaned towards him, unsteady and half-drunk, with eyes getting caught on another pair that never once wavered.

 

“We were on a mission together and I was just _so_  determined to show my father that I could handle it.” Hanzo pushed hair out of his face in frustration, cheeks flushed. “Genji never knew when to take things seriously, everything was one big game to him. I flew off the handle at him and then things went south before I could apologize. He didn’t… make it.” He went to take another drink but it was empty, his fingertips turned white against the glass from gripping too hard. He blamed himself and carried his guilt heavily.

 

“So, you ran away here?”

 

“Not running away, just… Starting anew.” His brows pulled down stubbornly but Jesse didn’t want to argue. Instead he had this open, almost understanding expression on his face that had Hanzo breaking into a softer frown.

 

“Huh.” Jesse exhaled. “Starting anew. Yeah, I like the sound of that, too.”

 

And then there didn’t seem to be anymore words to spill. They were close enough now at their small table that Hanzo found he could just tip to one side and find himself leaning against Jesse’s arm. He felt warm and solid beside him, and when Jesse’s fingers reached to loosen the grip of Hanzo’s own on his glass, he didn’t stop him. He simply let tan skin dance and tangle with his own.

 

When the lights started to brighten to signal the closing of the bar, the two of them spilled into the warm night with hands still joined. Hanzo considered pulling away but Jesse kept a tight hold and they were both a little unsteady on their feet to let go just yet. There was a smell of the sea in the air and a quiet calm to the empty street as they walked in the direction of the metro station. The last train into the city would be leaving soon.

 

“I have perhaps talked too much tonight, about myself and other matters.” Hanzo’s words weren’t as sharply clipped as usual, dark strands that had escaped his hair tie falling into his face. He watched their feet on the sandy sidewalk, his own pristine white sneakers next to scuffed and beaten biker boots. He could feel Jesse’s presence beside him, solid and human and comforting.

 

“Nah, I told ya I was a good listener. I liked listening to you.” Jesse adjusted the handle of his guitar case in one hand, squeezed at Hanzo’s fingers with his other. “Maybe we can switch places on our next date.”

                                                                                        

It had only been a tease but Hanzo was quick to stop in his tracks, hand slipping out of Jesse’s. The cowboy sent him a questioning look over his shoulder, breaking into an almost wicked smile under the dim streetlight at how flushed Hanzo looked.

 

Hanzo’s lips parted as if to say something, hand reaching to grip the loose collar of Jesse’s plaid shirt, pulling him up close to face him. Jesse was pliant and dizzyingly appealing with the way he knowingly tipped his head to one side, light casting soft shadows across tan skin and unruly hair. Just a little too drunk and desperate for contact, Hanzo caught himself staring; first at those warm brown eyes, and then at a pair of lips. His breath was caught somewhere between his lungs and throat, burning in his chest.

 

“This was not a date.” Hanzo huffed, before tugging Jesse down that last couple inches to make their lips meet.

 

Jesse tasted of cheap whiskey and kissed like he’d had his fair share of practice. Hanzo found his rhythm easy to match, grabbing the hat from Jesse’s head to let hang in his grip over Jesse’s shoulder. His other hand mapped out a sharp jaw below all that rough scruff before restlessly pushing into thick brown hair. There was a bump of a guitar case against one hip, a warm arm wrapping around Hanzo’s other, pulling the two of them closer together.

 

Hanzo’s head was spinning and his heart racing, teeth baring down on Jesse’s lower lip in order to break their kiss. His exhale comes a little shaky, body still held tight against Jesse’s own in a way that had his stomach flipping. Slowly, carefully, Hanzo untangled his fingers from Jesse’s hair, reaching to set his hat back on his head. It was a little wonky, but Jesse had this drunk grin that suggested he didn’t mind.

 

“Not a date, cowboy.”

 

“Sure thing.” Jesse winked, leaning in for another kiss but Hanzo was quick to turn his head, looking at him out the corner of his eye. “Tease.”

 

Hanzo didn’t respond, half clumsy as he slipped out of Jesse’s hold. There was sense looming through that drunken haze, a grip of panic at what he’d said and done that night under the influence of strong spirits. It felt cold where he was no longer in contact with Jesse, and his hand came up to brush his fingers over his lips in quiet thought. “The last train…”

 

“Sure thing,” Jesse repeated, all careless and confident, fixing the hat on his head. He had this dopey little smile on his face that left Hanzo wanting, considering staying just a little longer…

 

Heart thumping a steady beat, Hanzo forced himself to look away. Without another word, he turned, yet again stalking away from Jesse McCree along the sidewalk before he disappeared into the metro station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cheap Whiskey made me do it ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVdz0r76ViU)


End file.
